


Nice

by Halevetica



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Curious Aziraphale, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mild Angst, Requested, defensive Crowley, offscreen moments during canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 13:10:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19888378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halevetica/pseuds/Halevetica
Summary: After Crowley saves Aziraphale's books from the church he questions Crowley's actions.





	Nice

Crowley always kept an eye on Aziraphale, it was more necessary than it should have been. The angel could miracle himself out of any situation, but instead he feared for the reprimands he would receive for 'too many frivolous miracles'. That told you what kind of lot the angel's were. So Crowley had taken to knowing Aziraphale's whereabouts at all times. Which is how he found him in London in a church with Nazi spies and a gun to his head. Walking through consecrated ground wasn't the most comfortable thing but he'd do anything for his angel, including bomb a church he was still in.

The church was nothing more than a pile of rubble. As the dust settled around them. Aziraphale glanced at Crowley with fond eyes.

"That was very kind of you."

Crowley cleaned the dirt and dust from his glasses, "Shut up." He hated when the angel called him nice things. It went against his nature to be kind.

"Well, it was. No paperwork for a start." Aziraphale insisted. "Oh, the books." He looked around at the remnants of the church. No way they'd have survived the blast. "Oh, I forgot all the books. Oh, they'll all be blown to b-"

He cut himself off as he saw Crowley pull the bag from what was left of one of the Nazi's hands.

"Little demonic miracle of my own," Crowley said, pressing the bag into Aziraphale's hand. "Lift home?" He walked off towards the car while Aziraphale gaped after him.

The angel clutched the bag on his lap for dear life as Crowley drove through the streets of London.

"I have to know, why did you do it?" He asked looking over at the demon. Demon's weren't supposed to be nice, but Crowley was, truly.

"Do what?"

"Save the books. They don't mean anything to you."

"But they mean something to you," Crowley pointed out, his eyes still on the road.

Aziraphale only frowned at the demon's answer. "Why'd you come?"

"To save you of course. You'd have been blown to smithereens had I not."

"Yes, but why? You always seem to show up when I need you. You're always doing quite nice things and well-"

"Let's get one thing straight, angel," Crowley snapped as he parked the car in front of the little old bookshop Aziraphale spent all his time. "I am not nice. We have an Arrangement. I can't risk them sending another angel in your place because you got yourself discorporated by a Nazi with a gun or some French made killing machine. This is purely beneficial. I don't care about books, or crepes or Hamlet. I care about-" Crowley cut himself off as he almost said the word 'you'.

Aziraphale stared at Crowley with inquisitive eyes.

"Nothing," Crowley finished, averting his gaze. He looked instead at the dark windows of the bookshop, hoping the angel would drop the topic.

"You care about music, and this car," Aziraphale offered gently. He tried not to let Crowley's words hurt him, but they stung, just a little.

Crowley's hands gripped the steering wheel harder.

"I'm not nice. A demon can get into a lot of trouble for being nice."

"Ah, I see," Aziraphale nodded in understanding.

Crowley glared through his glasses but it went unnoticed by the dark frames.

"Very well...then what an evil thing that was. Blowing up a church, that's blasphemy, my dear boy," A smirk played on Aziraphale's lips.

Crowley's expression turned to one of fondness that he was thankful his glasses hid. A small smile on his own lips.

Aziraphale slid out of the car with the bag Crowley had saved clasped in his hands. "Good bye, Crowley."

"Farewell, angel," Crowley tilted his head.

Aziraphale closed the car door.

"For now," he sighed as he watched Aziraphale skitter into his bookshop.

Maybe one of these days the angel would understand why he did these things. These nice things. 

(Requested)


End file.
